


Prince and the Pauper

by nigellecter, YouDroppedYourForgiveness



Series: Abandonment Requires Expectation (Lost and Found) [2]
Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon - Manga, Incest, M/M, Pre-Canon (Nbc Hannibal), Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigellecter/pseuds/nigellecter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouDroppedYourForgiveness/pseuds/YouDroppedYourForgiveness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their parents brutal murder and the cannibalization of Mischa, Hannibal and Nigel are sent to an orphanage. A year into their abusive and horrible stay in the home for children, Nigel leaaves unable to handle the bullying and abuse any longer. Abandoning a mute Hannibal, the younger Lecter twin makes plans to go back for his brother only to find out that two years later his twin was adopted by their uncle Robertus and aunt Murasaki. Homeless and scrimping to save money for travel to find the where abouts of Hannibal for two grueling years, he finds Hannibal at a boarding school in Paris, living the high life and being pampered. Set 21 years before Fire & Brimstone, about the two years the lecter twins spent together, growing closer than ever, before their second parting that spans 19 years.   </p><p>-DISCONTINUED-</p><p>Teen Lecter Twins. Before Fire & Brimstone happens.<br/>Short exchanges, Nigel/Hannibal<br/>Mistakes are our own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

With a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, Nigel walks around the heart of the historic grounds of  _ Notre-Dame Les Oiseaux _ , a private boarding school located just off the residential area of Paris. The foliage of early fall covers the vast expanse of the trees, compacted around the site where he could feel the history of French Revolution seep through the cracks of the castle walls. With his broken French, it had not been an easy task to ride the train, find the appropriate building and read off the address -  _ 106, Grand Rue 78480, Verneuil-sur-Seine, France _ and patiently await until all the students stream out of the building until another day of extensive education. Having stripped his opportunity to learn, the idea of being on the school grounds both sickens him to the core and brings a renewed burst of jealousy in him, even without him taking notice of the bell’s deep sound breaking the dead silence and sighing breeze coursing through his threadbare shirt.

Feeling rather restless and a sore thumb to be sticking out of rather formally attired clan of adolescents, the perception feels like a mirage; something unattainable. With a half-smoked cigarette lit again, instead of smoking through a whole cigarette, he had been savoring, more so, being frugal as all the money he had collected over the course of months had been spent on purchasing a flight from Vilnius, Lithuania to Charles de Gaulle in Paris. Retreating out to the gates and letting himself blend in by standing beneath the gigantic oak tree offering shade in the midst of a blinding sunlight of the late afternoon, his hawk-like gaze scans each of the student, until his doppelganger makes the appearance. He’s a less tanned, roughened up version with impeccable appearance, his distant and aloof demeanor still vibrant than anything else he registers. “Psst, Hannibal!” Whistling with his fingers just after letting out a long exhale, he tosses the stub by the gutter and takes a step, fingers tightening around his old leather shoulder bag, the only possession he carried along since he lived off the streets. 

__

After uncle Robertus died, he entered one of the most prestigious boarding schools in France. Life with his adopted aunt and uncle opened his eyes to a whole world. One where he was able to pick up where he left off when his parents and Mischa were killed. The only thing missing was his twin brother Nigel. His brother had left him mute and all alone unable to defend himself in the orphanage. When his uncle came to adopt the three lecter children the only one who was left was him. While he did well in school and earned top marks, he was a loner. Brooding and quiet not one of many words, he just recently got his voice back. He took to wearing all black still mourning the loss of his family. He also might never see his twin ever again. Walking the school grounds after class, he was dressed in his school uniform. Suddenly he looked up, he heard his name on a voice he hadn’t heard in ages. There on the other side of the fence was Nigel. Running over he exclaimed, “What… is that really you? How did you find me?”

__

Looking less than put together with soiled pair of rugged and ripped jeans and a shirt a size too big on him, the wind sweeps through his thinned figure. He was still slightly broader than Hannibal, but oh did his brother look slim like a dancer. Well-fed and grown up over those gaps of years. All the recollections reel past him like a reeled spool of yarn, putting together a stretched garment full of imperfections and holes. “I went back to that fucking despicable orphanage only to find you had been adapted by someone I didn’t know that existed. All I had was the fucking address.” Sighing in a relief that he had cleaned himself and changed his clothes to more fresh ones, he extends both of his arms, throwing himself as he embraced the twin. All the grueling times aside, his chin firmly digs into the other's shoulder blade as he frantically nods. “You finally decided to speak, I thought you were going to be a fucking mute all your life.” As soon as he finishes speaking, his stomach rumbles and does a tumble as he hadn’t eaten in few days. Thrusting a hand into the pocket and fumbling for some rumpled franc bills, he perceives he only has enough for a meal or two left in his possession. “We should go eat, did you have lunch yet?”

__

Seeing his brother now is like a mirage in the desert. He almost isn’t sure that it’s real. Glancing around he checks to make sure no one is nearby. He could get into major trouble for not signing out to leave school grounds. He doesn’t care right now all that matters is Nigel is here in front of him. The sound of his voice brings tears to his eyes. Swiftly and awkwardly he climbed over the short half stone half iron fence. Jumping to the ground he stumbles over only to be swept up in an embrace. He could feel and see the difference between them now. His brother smells like cigarettes, and like he hasn’t bathed in a few days. A line of concern pinches his brow, he could tell that Nigel had been skipping meals, mostly due to lack of money. “I got my voice back just recently, sorry if I forget to talk sometime.” Wiping the tears from his face, hugging Nigel tight. There was no way he was going to let his brother pay for anything. “Allow me to pay I have a rather large allowance and I don’t mind at all. It’s the least I can do, we have so much to catch up on.”

__

Pushing back a few stubborn locks of hair that sweeps and pokes through the deep ridges and more chiseled face, a faint sheen of sweat around his neck makes his long ashen blond hair to plaster around the curve of his neck. Still locked in the embrace like an unbreakable chain links, he playfully nudges Hannibal’s side and shoves him away. “You fucking left me hanging in the orphanage with your zipped lips. I’m most positively sure you’re not getting fucking bullied around here?” The twins were the most easiest to get, because obviously, Hannibal hadn’t spoken a single word after the traumatic experience and Nigel’s temper was uncontrollable as a neglected cigarette butt causing a wildfire across the mountain range. Even when the most relentless and ruthless one had constantly beat him down with his size and strength, he hadn’t given up putting up an impressive fight. “Hopefully I’ll leave some of your allowance to be untouched, because I’m fucking starving and probably eat a goddamn horse if presented with one.” With a peck on the older twin’s cheek, he parts and winds an arm around Hannibal’s shoulder. “Don’t cry like a fucking sissy and lead the fucking way then.”

__

“I assure you that I do not have to deal with many bullies here. I still keep to myself though.” What he didn’t tell his twin was the only bully that tried to lay a finger on him turned up dead months later. No one was able to tell what had killed the brute, but he wasn’t missed by many. “You may eat whatever you like just don’t make yourself sick yeah?” Being pushed away playfully he grinned and looked his twin over closely. He was rougher and handsome, wider in the shoulders. His hair had grown out longer and he looked like he could use some meat on his bones. Walking shoulder to shoulder they tumbled down the sidewalk. He was glad that he had stowed his books in his room before he decided to stroll the grounds. All he had on him was his wallet in his coat pocket an art pencil and a sketch pad. “It’s good to see you Nigel, I’ve missed you. Did you know we have an aunt and uncle who sadly he pasted away this last year.” He chatted away merrily as he steered his twin towards his favorite place to get away from school. It was a quiet little French cafe that shares a garden with a little park. Where you could often see children play. “Welcome to le chat noire. ” He plopped Nigel down in a chair and asked in rapid fluent French for a menu.

__

It’s putting a giant dent or crack in his heart to see Hannibal doing so well and be affluent, yet it significantly relieves him at least one of them had been well fed and taken care of. Whoever that had adopted him back - the relatives who he didn’t know existed nor wasn’t diseased - had taken care of his older twin well. By the looks of things, the boarding school looked impressive both from outside and the history behind it. Only able to understand few snippets of the history, all he knows is it is a private school with a bilingual education, which meant Hannibal would be fluent in French unlike himself. “I can chomp that fucking fence you just climbed over if I have to. I haven’t eaten in a while.” His erratic habit of eating had taken a toll on his physique, as he could’ve grown a lot more if he had been properly fed. Like a snake digesting a mouse, once he ate like a king, there would be days without considerable amount of food. “I only know their names, Robertus and M something, something foreign. I have only seen their faces through faded black and white photos.” Turning to look at his twin with more neater and cropped hair, he nods before squinting his eyes, trying to read the cafe’s signpost. “Um, black something. My French is horrible.” His gaze immediately travels to the park outside, where he could see couple of children play football. “Why don’t you order something, I want to dip my fucking feet into whatever they’re doing.”

__

Sitting a the small cafe table outside, he studiously corrects his brother’s French. He certainly had it drilled into his head enough. “Le Chat Noire means the black cat, so good you recognized some of it.” He wondered what his twin had been up to these past few years. With no adult supervision, he couldn’t imagine the trouble he could get into. “Are you taking care of yourself Nig?” It was his way of trying to get more information from his twin without seeming overly nosey. With uncle Robertus gone, he still had aunt Murasaki who lived not far from here in a flat to be close to him while he was at school. He suspected that she wanted to keep an eye on him, as she had to suspicions about his nefarious activities. “Lady Murasaki is our aunt, she is Japanese, and very lovely. You should meet her sometime.” He held Lady Murasaki and high regard, and was one of the people responsible for his peculiar tastes now. She was involved with high fashion and high society, she also was a rather popular host here in Paris. He watched the gleam in Nigel’s eyes when he saw the group of slightly younger children playing football in the park nearby. Before he could stay anything his twin was up and telling him to order food. “Hey, Wait Nig aren’t you going to eat something first?” Pursing his lips in frustration, he haughtily took the menu from a young woman, and said thank you in French dismissively. He looked over the menu, and planned to order some things that were light on the stomach but filling.

__

Swaying his head in an almost dispassionate manner and shrugging his shoulders, he glances over at the elegant cursive writing on the opposite side with the equally lithe and almost aristocratic-like black cat pointing towards the menu on black chalkboard. “A fucking snobby and pussy cat that is,” he blurts as he darts towards the door. More kids have gathered around by the time his gaze darts over to follow the movement of the ball. “I have been getting by, pilfering, making little side money and all that.” He wasn’t just ready to reveal the fact that he had been slipping into juvenile delinquencies and getting shitfaced when he got enough adulterated coke to get sloshed and high. “I fucking gather you live in the castle grounds, where does Lady Murasaki live in Paris?” His attention completely diverted outside the ball gleaming and cutting through the blinding mid-afternoon light, he waved his hand halfheartedly before looking over the shoulder to Hannibal. “Just order whatever the fuck strikes your mood, Han, I’m sure we can divvy up the food whenever it comes out. Why don’t you move to the picnic table over there, the day is so fucking splendid to lock yourself in the quaintness of the cafe, don’t you think?” With a bit of a hesitance, he asks the kid who looked like the one who owned the ball. “Puis-je te joindre?” Discarding his beat-up shoulder bag over by the bench, his fingers rake through his long mane, brushing a lock away from his chiseled face as he dashes forward the open grass.

___

Chuckling at the rough manner that his brother speaks in, he sighs wistfully. To be able to be yourself and say and do anything you wish, that was something truly rare. He secretly admired his brother for things he was able to do. Having street smarts and being able to survive on his own. He couldn’t imagine what it was like, he had book smarts, and he was slowly learning a martial art from Lady Murasaki in his free time. It was hard for him to do anything that didn’t involved cracking a book or drawing something. He preferred to spend his time in the library or learn ballroom dancing. He even liked to watch people cook, it fascinated him, and he enjoyed learning. French cuisine was one of this favorite things, he loved food, and had developed a refined palate. Right now he forgot about books, and school and just wanted to spend time with his brother, who was now champing at the bit to go play bal… “I do live on the school ground with the other students, and Aunt Murasaki lives only a few blocks from here.” He made an annoyed face at the back of his twin’s head as he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. After this brother ditched his bag, he called a waiter over and explained that he was going to order food and move everything over to the picnic table under a tree. Even at fifteen adults had a tendency to do what he asked them to do. He had an air of sophistication and command about him that made him trustworthy, and a natural leader whose orders were to be followed. Picking up his brothers bag he had three two waitresses bring him a tray with some appetizers on it. He had ordered oysters on the half shell with mignonette sauce. Most for himself, and for his brother and him to share a whole wheel of warm brie de meaux. To go with the brie cheese a fresh baked baguette, and two chocolat l'ancienne to drink, which was a sort of elevated hot chocolate. Taking off his coat he sat under the tree, drinking from a steaming hot mug watching the other kids play. He had not played since Mischa’s death, and he supposed he never would again, he had grown up much too fast. He had ordered also a whole quiche lorraine for them, to be brought out later. The leftovers he would send with his brother. Pouting like a small thundercloud, he withdrew his pencil and sketchbook, and started doodling, while nibbling on a piece of baguette with his hot chocolate on the ground between his legs.


	2. Chapter 2

His mind completely forgotten about the food that makes forth towards the picnic table, his full attention now directs on the ball’s projectile. As straightforward and rough he usually was with people, to play ball, he didn’t need unnecessary words to connect with people and to show off his skills. Living as a drifter had him get used to the terrains and surroundings like if his home had been limitless and beyond boundaries. As if enchanted, and as he didn’t have much time to play balls when he had been recovering from the bouts of drug use and going through periods of not having a single penny in his pocket, he scampers and spins through what he considers shrimps to whizz through the ocean of grass and scores multiple goals. “Je vais tu apprendre les petits enfants, tu regarde.” With his less than perfect French, as his conjugations were off, at least his message comes across. He had a different charm, with his roguish features and demeanor; some people considered him brute and unrefined, while others admired his adventurousness and a positive outlook on life, even when things got down in the drain for him. After doing a few tricks to tip, kick, balance and let the ball become one with his rather graceful and broad frame, he chucks his shirt off and hurls it across the bench, just short of where Hannibal is sitting to draw him or the scenery. “Don’t fucking mind me and get started, I just wanna show this trick and I’ll join you in emptying the cafe’s fucking fridge clean.” His tan, coppery skin glowing with a faint sheen of sweat, he roughly pushes the plastered mane away from his forehead before tipping the soccer ball on the heel of his foot.

__

It’s still early in the autumn that it's warm out, with the sun shining high in the sky. There was no class today as it was a national day of rest. He sipped daintily at the chocolat l'ancienne. He was happy to just sit in the shade and watch. Nigel was very athletic and it showed, he had such an enthusiasm for life, and he did always like sports. The twins were like night and day, one bookish and smart the other witty and energetic. They did share many common traits thought, quick thinking, smart ass attitudes, even if the older hid it well under a layer of etiquette. Born on the cusp of two zodiac signs made them even more notably different. He was the epitome of Scorpio in all their eccentricities. While his younger twin was born closer to the Sagittarius sign. Wild as a stallion and just as untameable. It only became more apparent when Nigel left the orphanage, in the true archer fashion, never being tied down. When Nigel came back over and took his shirt off, he couldn’t help stare, his brother was filling out nice, if not for a little on the thin side. He wished that his brother would sit down with him and enjoy the food before it sat too long. Moving a little and getting up he stretched out, holding on to his sketchbook. The drawing on the blank page didn’t look like much at first, but was slowly taking shape. It was a perfectly detailed portrait of Nigel balancing the soccer ball on his head. Picking the tray of oysters he carried them over and sat back down on the ground. Idly he rolled his pencil across the flat surface of the sketchbook, and started eating. He used his coat as a pillow and propped his head up and leans back against the tree. With his feet stretched out in front of him he lamented the fact that his clothes were getting horribly dirty. Just as he settled down comfortable in his spot, the soccer ball came whizzing by and bouncing off the tree and landing in his lap. A young boy who looked to be about ten years old with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes came over and asked for the ball back. Being the polite gentleman that he was, he stood up and handed the ball over with a bow. The boy who reminded him of Mischa, looked at him like he was odd, and noticed that Nigel and him were twins. Curiously the boy assumed that must mean that they were both good at football, and demanded that he join them. Inclining his head to the side with a little sigh, he replied. “Non, non, je ne dois pas. ” Waving his head he continued to decline while the younger boy insisted.

__

With the zenith of the sun overhead and casting intense golden beam across the fields, his tanned form soon drenches in a more prominent layer of sweat. Forcefully pulling his tight skinny jeans, the fit a bit loose around his pronounced and jutting hip bones, he has not a single ounce of fat around his midsection as his breathing pushes his lungs over the edge. Chasing the balls and doing little tricks and there to zigzag through the entire boundary, he breathlessly pants before slouching over his knees, supplying his outrightly straining lungs an onslaught of precious fresh air of the suburban. Palms poised and firm on his kneecaps, letting the other shrimps get away with the ball for now, he scrunches his nose, his gaze carefully following his twin with a precision of a viewfinder. Manifested to a starved black leopard, his streamlined frame moves stealthily to scrutinize and eavesdrop the interaction and a short conversation between the young boy and Hannibal. “Mes identiški dvyniai.” He speaks in his native tongue without even thinking, the boy’s complexion and the reticent nature reminds him of dear Mischa too much that a foreign sensation consumes him whole; something he didn’t feel even when they both had been haunted by the recurring nightmares. “Nous sommes… Fuck. Identical twins, how the fuck do I say that?” He mutters under his breath as his aching chest slowly regains its steady palpitation. “Il est pas bon, I’m fucking sure of that, or he doesn’t want to get his fucking pants dirty or knows I’m gonna beat his tiny bookworm ass.” A widening and challenging smirk as he saunters over with his typical long stride, snatching a piece of baguette Hannibal had been holding. “Whattaya say, Han? A wager, hm?”

__

He an feel his eyes rolling in the back of his head, and that there would be no getting out of this, not when his rude and unruly twin was now challenging him, and proposing a wager. “ Qui, tres bien, puisque vous insistez. As you wish Nig, how can I say no to you.” He huffed, lip curling slightly in a tiny snarl that lasted only a nanosecond. He undid this neck scarf, and took off his vest, and laid them neatly on the bench. One thing that no one knew not even his brother was that he was insanely competitive, and did not like to lose. In fact he would do what he had to, to see that his team won. Oddly enough they put the twins on opposite teams, since it wouldn’t be ‘fair’ to have them on the same one. While he wasn’t practiced in sports, he knew the rules of the game, and had read them once, and could now recall them on cue with his near photographic memory. Though he preferred the company of books and adults, he did have a hidden sort of animalistic prowess, that he liked to keep under wraps. He didn’t like others to see him like that, and it was only this past year that he discovered this sort of trait, when he had hunted down those pigs who had murdered his dear Mischa and their parents. Rolling up his sleeves and securing them, he wasn’t going to take off his shirt unless it was necessary. He worked very hard to hide his true self, the one that enjoyed killing, and sometimes even eating lesser beings, there weren’t many humans that he now considered his equal. He was much like a house cat, while he liked to be pampered, and enjoyed being fussed over, and living the high life, deep down, he was still a cat, an apex predator. The house cat spends a lot of time sleeping and conserving energy, just for the right moment that they might need it. Now was one such moment for him, time to wake up that lazy sleeping house cat and get to work.

__

Lips thinned and pursed with a renewed purpose, he has his hair loosely tied at the back with a thinned rubber band, holding his matted clumping hair, soiled with a couple of days’ worth of grime and sweat. Tongue pressed firm against back of his bottom teeth, his grin spreads further as he swallows the piece of baguette. “What should we bet? Whatever you say, I’ll fucking do it. If I win, I’m taking you to a fucking club.” The only clean and decent clothes he had was all-black ensemble he had saved for a special occasion when he slipped inside the small establishments to sell adulterated drugs, just enough to get junkies high, with secretly hoarded bag to save for such an opportunity like this. Taking a small sip of water and wiping his face of dripping sweat on the napkin before stretching his neck, his gaze narrows. His uncontrollable temper had him butted with more bigger bullies who had provoked him until he would either have his knuckles bleed with the other’s blood or have his own face covered with livid bruises and contusions, most often with him, there had been nothing in between, the fifty shades of gray. Knowing Hannibal had observed him while he partook in lots of athleticism, mainly soccer and sparring without an intent, living off on the street had him confronted with territorial hoodlums and delinquents just like himself. The young boy with the blonde hair and blue eyes had been on Hannibal’s team, while he himself had taken few of the good ones, one of them he saw had a potential to be more like an attacking forward with good techniques and ball control, someone like Zinedine Zidane. Sending him forward to score goals and letting other boys have fun, he stays back as a midfielder, as he had a good ability to secure ball control and make some sharp passes that would cut through the opposite team’s formation. Always on the edge and living more like a feral cat, who maintained minimal social interaction when it presented to be the most necessary in his survival. There was no reason to hide his true self, as his capricious life had him to adapt and evolve with the encompassing environment. “Does spoiled rotten high and mighty have any words to say before we proceed?” 

__

After his sleeves were rolled up, he unbuttoned the collar of this shirt, and stared up in the sky. Using a hand as a shield, and squinting, he thought about what he should wager. Coming to a decision he pivoted while lowering his hand, to look Nigel dead in the eyes. “If I win, you have to promise to stay in a flat near my school.” He had a glint in his eye that curled the corner of his mouth up in a sinister grin. With both hands in his pocket he stood waiting. It made his already villainous cheekbones more pronounced. He tilted his head away, and up, giving his brother a view of his profile to dramatic effect, only more devious by the barely there smirk. “Do we have an accord?” He he removed one his hands from his pocket and offered it out to Nigel now to shake. After he shook hands with his twin he nod once, and turned to trot off and barked out in concise fluent French. “Venez rassembler autour. Se blottir.” He gathered them all up like little ducklings and had them huddle up and started going over plans. He elected himself goalie, and as he had confidence he could block anything that came his way. He wasn’t altogether thrilled about doing a lot of running so it worked out in his favor. They looked up to him and seemed impressed that he knew so much about the sport. The only reason he knew much about it at all was he studied it in length back at school to try to have something to talk about in conversation with the other boys. Other wise he wouldn’t care one Iota about the ‘game’. Being a good five years or more older than the small group of children he felt like a god, lording over them, and they listened to his every word. It made him feel powerful, and knew that this was what he wanted in life to have people look to him for direction, and respect. This was a defining moment for him, as he planned to go back to school with a plan in mind for a career choice. Something that would follow him well into a adulthood. “Allez petits agneaux. Gagnons.” He cheered them on, one thing he was good at when he had to be was a people person, and rallying people together like a herd of sheep, came easy to him.

__

Standing askance with a straightened posture, his burning hazel matches that of the intensifying wavy glow of the sun. As confidence exudes in the form of his typical smirk, there simply was no way a studious nerd like Hannibal would ever beat his overly competitive ass. With him as the vehement midfielder, there would be no way those shrimps from the opposite team could pass through the impenetrable defense of his broader frame and his sharp passes with a precision of bullets’ projectile. The smug expression remains plastered onto his face just until he hears Hannibal’s wager. The obliterating fact was that what meager possession he had, he wasn’t even sure if he had enough to get by even for a couple of days, nor his broken French would ever carry him even further than that, because his allurement included and involved him speaking in sultry Lithuanian. Driven solely by the burning desire to be with his twin again and be reunited, he only has to beat himself with jumping the gun and accept the fact that there would be no denying this delicious offer. “Fine, Han, it’s a fucking deal.” Driving his hand deep with a firm grasp, he shakes it once and squeezes hard with a laser-like sidelong gaze etching across Hannibal’s face. Beckoning and waving his hand to instruct the boys to get to their position, he stretches his limbs before standing on the center of the field in a dignified manner. The first half, fifteen minutes long, soon begins with a forceful arch drawn from the tip of his toe and it immediately reaches towards his older twin with an impressive strength behind it. “Fuck.” Feigning a back snap, he imitates collapsing on the spot with a dramatic frown, as he wants to give the impression that he’s giving it all one has, despite his setbacks. After all, he didn’t want to disappoint and let the kids be the scapegoat in his gain.

__

Like the smug little shit he is, he knows that he gave his brother a deal he couldn’t refuse, he was akin some sort of schoolyard mob boss. All he has to do is sit back and watch the show unfold. He knew his brother too well, after grown up together for their whole lives until then were ten years old when their world turned upside down. Now four years later after their separation, the only thing that seems to have changed was their looks and their height. Growing taller, and still being the slim build that they are didn’t change the fact that their personalities were still the same. Ever since he was a tiny little child he had always been different than everyone else. He had a very unique sense of smell and was way too clever for his own good. It only became easier to manipulate people as he got older. Everyone was a pawn on his giant chess board, moving the little pieces about wherever he wished. While his brother and Mischa had been exempt from most of the Machiavellian plottings that he often had going at all times, he couldn’t turn his gift off anymore than a bird would stop wanting to fly. So even now he watched and waited while his brother tried to out wit him. Sure his brother would play the fool and lose the game, but was it really a loss if it meant that they would get to spend more time together… he thought not. Almost to the halfway point of the game they stayed fairly tied up. All it would take for this game to be tipped either one way or the other was Nigel to continue to let the scores to stay hand in hand. One thing was sure, he would pay his brother back in spades for getting him into this mess. He was sweating and he wasn’t very pleased to be doing that, it was hot, and his shirt was soaked, sticking to his chest. He didn’t want to take his shirt off either it would not be dignified. While he knew that he couldn’t best his brother in brawn, in his mind he had already beat him, at this little game they played. In the end everyone would get what they want. He called feigned encouragement to the young kids, knowing it wasn’t necessary. “Restez forts maintenant!”

__

His intuition tells him that Hannibal is pulling strings yet again as he had been all his life. There had been some instances where he would get provoked so much so from Hannibal’s pitiful expression had driven him to let his uncontrollable temper snap free, even though the confrontation had resulted in him beaten up to a pulp, him literally striking a stone with eggs. As his life depended on fool’s paradise, it won’t bear any resemblance to what ultimately unfolds. He had seen lots of unfortunate delinquents slip more further into an inescapable path of self-obliterating themselves to death, using their physicality as means to live. He wasn’t going to jeopardize his good looks solely to live in the moment without a care in the world. It’s like catching two birds with one stone; the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity too good to pass, with a tight link of them being together and maintaining some sort of safe haven with his irregular routines. Although it was unlikely he would ever get into the prestigious boarding school, he would want to get the required education to pile onto his street smarts. Although he would most often fly by the seat of his pants and that had lead him up to this very moment, there would be a limitation where his relentless efforts would prove worthless. Knowing his stuff, but never wanting to be a fucking sore loser with a dramatic difference in scores, he gives his all, scoring and assisting few goals in the process until Hannibal, with his wits and ends, begins to penetrate his skillful maneuver like the back of his hands. Also, his concentration falters. There was intentional fasting to boost and even regenerate immune system, but at his most crucial age to fuel his depleting energy, but with his high metabolism and having gone through a particularly dry and hot summer with intense drought, his attenuated body tires much more easily. By the time second half ends, his own team is behind one goal, but all he cares and where his attention diverts is towards the picnic table with whatever the food his twin had ordered. “ _ Vous gagnez _ . I don’t even fucking care about that anymore.  _ Nous avons perdu _ . kiddos.” Drenched in stream of sweat, he doesn’t care if he hasn’t tasted oysters before and whatever cocoa-like thick liquid has gotten cold. Stuffing himself with a long piece of baguette he had torn off, his back adheres against the bench, the only muscle able to move his unique mouth, chomping off the crusty outer part like a starved wild tomcat.  

__

And just like that the game is at an end, and Nigel is dumping himself on the bench where their food had surly gotten cold. He shoos his little team off to go play so that he can finally spend some time with his twin. “Well played, Nigel. Very well played indeed.” Heaving breath, he trots over to the picnic table and plops down next to his brother, telling him it was a good game. He doesn’t brag, nor rub it in his face, he knows the true outcome, and he is a gentleman after all. He sits with his back up against the table, arms wide out stretched and resting on the surface while he leaned back. “You should try the chocolat l'ancienne even if its cold, it should still be good. I can have more brought out with our main food, this was meant to just be a starter.” Food was a passion of his, and he was excited now to be able to feed his brother something decent, something deserving of their reunion. He got to his feet, wiping cooling sweat from his brow, and walks back into the cafe to ask for the quiche lorraine he order to be brought out with some fresh cups of dark hot chocolate drink. Slowly he made his way back to their table, already thinking of which flat he could rent out for a while, if necessary he would buy the place, as he wanted some where stable for his brother to live. He could tell that it had been to long since his twin had any where safe to call his own. The idea that Nigel was more than likely reduced to living under bridges with other homeless people made his heart ache. He would see to it that, it would never happen to a member of his family ever again. It had been bad enough the awful three years of terror that he had put up with in the orphanage, two of those years spent alone without his brother. It filled him with rage to think that this was what their family had been reduced to in the wake of some scum murdering their parents, and poor sweet Mischa who had only been three years old… His baby sister being learning to talk and followed him around every where he went. He carried he as if she was his own personal live baby doll, pampering her dressing her up, and teaching her like some sort of mini me. He let out a shudder, pushing away the memories, and the thoughts about what happened to her. Would living at home Nigel and him had their own private tutor, they were quick learners, and were advanced for their age. His brother’s schooling had been cut off very early at the age of ten so he would have some catching up to do. “How would you feel if I tutored you Nigel, is that something you would be interested in?” He reached the table, and sat down opposite, unwrapping the wheel of brie cheese and started to cut into it.


	3. Chapter 3

Wherever there was a comparably clean surface to press his body against, that became his temporary home. The reason for materializing his abrupt yet percolated escape plan had formulated when he admitted all the skinny naked truths. Through incessant bulling and his only clutch for security and balance, his twin, having gone mute for a full year and failing to have his own volatile and explosive personality checked, none of the caretakers and even the headmaster of the orphanage could correctly follow up with what it really happened. Even when their abusive handling of orphans and underage children had taken the wraps off to the society, the establishment continued its existence and it was very difficult to see the silver lining through all the horrendous. Apparently not all clouds had it. Knowing that their very residence had been turned into a wretched walls closing in to only remind them about calamity of the events, stacking up to turn to a lose-lose situation, all he could daydream was to come up with a plan to get himself out first, then make it back to get his older twin. Clawing his way back had been challenging, as none of the affluence had been available when he stepped his feet into the world at tender age of ten. All he wants to do is to let his restrained furor and whirling mind to be unleashed, just like the patter of the raining without intermission during the bleak winter and clapping and thunderous lightning that breaks the uneasy silence. However, his ocean-like mind, although beautiful and bright on the outer surface, became tumultuous and all-consuming with rage and wrath. If he had enough willpower and strength to decimate those who had wronged them. With his sweat-soaked mane stuck to cup around his defined cheekbones, he shakes his hair off as the locks curtain around the side of his face. Pulling himself off from the alluring position, he snatches the shirt and presses his face into it to wipe off the lingering sweat. Lifting unnecessarily dainty cup and frowning his eyes in displease, he lets out a short grunt before taking a considerable guzzle, painting his lower side with a thick viscous layer of chocolate. “It’s basically a fucking thick cocoa. I’ve never had this ever in my bloody life.” Growing ravenous than ever, with the loss all forgotten behind the recess of his mind, he delves to dive right into as he pigs out more than half of baguette along with impeccably wiped clean cup. To him, his eyes weren’t ever bigger than his stomach, as he could literally eat the entire stock of the cafe down. “I figured, let them bring a fucking feast and I won’t be satisfied.” As the light slowly slants and darkens as shadow crawls to contour them around, he slips on his shirt again, as bits of loose fabric accentuates just how lithe he had gotten over the years. “It fucking depends what, what are you exactly proposing?” He wasn’t exactly the right material to be turned into a paradigmatic student with virtuousness and flawless grades.  

___

All of his thoughts now were split into different directions, one was plotting how much it would cost to purchase a whole flat, another train of thought went to buying Nigel some new clothes, his brain kicked into overdrive, getting way ahead of himself. Cutting into the wheel of brie cheese, its extra soft from the warm weather, but it was covered in the shade so it ha barely melted at all. He cut a few slices and put them on a tiny plate for Nigel and placed them in front of his brother, serving him first. “I suppose I could tutor you in anything you wish. I am at the top of my class and I have a lot of free time, since I do a lot of the school work in advance.” Thoughtfully he planned to let his twin borrow or have a bunch of books from his own personal collection. Getting his brother to read, would help further his learning along. He also wanted to gauge just how far his twin has fallen behind, and how much he would have to catch up on. “I have faith in you Nigel, in the true Lecter fashion, we are quick learners.” A waitress came out with the quiche, and the two new hot cups of the hot chocolate. He thanked her and with a grin he told his brother. “You will love this Nigel, I promise, it has bacon in it. How could I ever forget your favorite food.” One a different plate he cut a generous piece of the light and fluffy egg pastry, giving Nigel the plate with a fork. After serving himself a smaller piece as he wasn’t really that hungry anymore, he sat down, with a pleased smile. “  _ Bon Appétit _ , my dear.” 

___

With the gradually intensifying wind quickly taking the heat and drying off the lingering sweat, with his attention only half-focused on searching for his shoulder bag, his arm crawls over to the other side to retrieve the said possession. The only wearable garment inside is the flayed and soiled denim jacket, one size or two too big around his broad shoulders, leaving too much room over his thinned chest and back. The heavy scent of motor oil and grease assaults the ambiance as the intense heat significantly lessens. Unaware of the twins’ wager involving their little soccer and partaking in a match that already had a predicted outcome, the kids wave and says goodbyes after practicing what Nigel had showed them before a kid, reminiscent of Mischa, had invited Hannibal in. That same kid lingers around them for a while before Nigel’s fingers rake into the boy’s sand blond hair. There are so many things he wish to ask the doppelganger and gender-flipped version of his little sister. The boy would be around Mischa’s age too and he is only reminded of occasional, but recurrent nightmare of watching the gruesome sights over and over again. Sometimes he would even dream about himself getting killed in the same violent and brutal manner. With his living environment mimicking that of the abandoned warehouses and underneath the bridges, there had been a plethora of nightmarish surroundings, turning into tormenting recollections of what could and should’ve have been. “I want to learn self-defense of some sorts. I fucking don’t want the things to repeat itself and definitely reading. I can speak fine, I don’t want to end up like a fucking savage of an illiterate.” Chomping down on the last morsel of baguette and taking the brie plate, he rolls up the loose sleeves and props himself with an elbow. “More like adaptive, throw me in a fucking wilderness and I will be able to make alive with survival techniques. There are things you pick up on the streets and evolve yourself. Making every fucking effort to get by a day at a time.” Uncaring for the vessel Hannibal hands him in, his fingers immediately clutch around the thick airy quiche and munches it down in a heartbeat. “  _ Bon Appétit _ to you too, but I can’t help to ask, Han, how the fuck are you gonna buy, even rent the goddamn flat, with the kind of work I have been doing… There’s no fucking way in hell I’d able to pay bills and everything else.”  

__

With his fork poised half-way to his mouth he pauses, staring at Nigel. “Oh you will not have to worry about bills or anything, I will take care of it all. You just worry about brushing up on your studies.” He finally took a bite of food on his fork and takes time to savor the taste. “We will have up to speed in no time.” He gave his brother a confidant warm smile, continuing to eat his piece of quiche lorraine. Things were looking positive, he finally got his brother back and maybe they could put the past behind them, to carry on as if they were never apart. Already he was making plans for them, and all of the fun they could have together. There was still a matter of the the scum he hunted down to avenge their family. It was a secret he was liable to take to his grave. There was absolutely no way of telling how his brother would react to that knowledge. It wasn’t something that he could make go away either. It was like a gnawing growing need inside him now. People who were idiots, disrespectful and rude seemed to set him off, and he didn’t think there was a way he could control it. Sometimes the urge was a lot stronger, but who knows how long he would be able to without doing something about it. “You can stay in my dorm until I find the perfect flat for you.” It suddenly dawned on him that tonight there would be no place for Nigel to go, as he hadn’t even had a chance to look into rentals. He wasn’t going to let his brother slip from his grasp, not now. So he would just sneak his brother into his dorm and have him cash their until tomorrow when he could make some phone calls. “You can share my bed for the night, and tomorrow we shall look for a new home together.” He raised both eyebrows at Nigel almost in a waggling devilish manner.   

___

Enjoying the welcome respite in the suburban Paris, he hadn’t been surrounded by this much nature, solace and comfort on the streets. His mind blessed with most sought-after reunion with his older twin, his mind brims with ecstatic bliss. The offer sounds too good to be true and as much as this had been a slam dunk for him and he has a bit of bubbling suspicions about the source of financials and not knowing how Hannibal is able to afford all of this, his assuring words of confidence is good enough to let that pass for now. “At least I haven’t wasted my fucking time letting precious time slip away from learning. Although there were temptations by bad companions, I didn’t want to plunge myself into evil ways.” There were a careless group of juvenile delinquents who had yielded to shooting up adulterated drugs and flood of cheap booze, even committing assaults to get their ways. As much as he wanted to indeed wash his hands of the whole thing, it was living this way or letting himself perish under the harsh conditions in Lithuania. If this had truly been his chance to turn everything into a blessing in disguise, then there was no way in hell he would decline the offer thrown right at him. Carelessly wiping his lower face with a napkin, he flags for the server for another plate full of quiche with extra bacon. “ _ Je veux plus _ .. Extra bacon. Fuck, um..  _ Bacon supplémentaire _ . More the fucking better.” Through trial and error, he barely manages to get his point across as he bites more into the piquant Gruyère and flaky crust, which continue to stick and fall onto his lap. “It doesn’t have to be fucking huge. All I really need is a place to lay my head and out of all the bloody elements.” As he had been accustomed to outdoors more than the sense of nostalgic indoors full of mama’s food and shelves full of tomes and classics, his recollections were filled with earthy and fresh scent of woods and petrichor before the first drop of downpour drizzles along the bridge of his nose. With more food disappearing into bottomless pit that is his stomach, with his high metabolism, the source of his vigor seems to compensate for the loss of the proper nutrients through his puberty as both insatiable wolfishness and gratification looms over. Nodding as he mutters thank you to the server as he hogs the second whole quiche, he reciprocates Hannibal’s seduction with his own curl of lips, hazel pools gleaming with the dissipating late afternoon light. “I fucking hope you have all the goddamn allowance to cover the tap.” His posture looks more like a feral kid eating the viscera off of a carcass of a fawn, rather than this versatile, epitome of French cuisine filled with lardons. 

___

He watched Nigel devour his food like a starved animal, and tried his best to keep the pain it caused him off of his face. It was heartbreaking just imaging what his twin had to go through for four years. Living off the streets, getting involved with god knows what. It took every ounce of willpower not to sit next to his brother and hold him tight. He wanted to assure him that the worst was over and that, he need not worry any longer. He planned to take care of everything, he might have failed Mischa, but he would not do the same again. Not with Nigel, he was now the head of the family and he had a responsibility to up hold. “Don’t worry about the details, Nigel. I shall take care of everything I promise.” He stared across the table meeting his twin’s gaze with his placid unblinking one of his own. He vowed that never again would he ever break a promise. “And I always will keep my promises.” With a curt little nod he slowly blinked coming back to life like a doll that sat to long on the shelf, he pushed his own plate away, too full to eat anymore. “ Well I couldn’t possibly finish anything else, so please help yourself. And again do not worry about the tab. This is nothing compared to what my allowance limit lets me spend, and I’m sure once I talk to Aunt Murasaki, she will be perfectly fine with letting me handle the expenses for your new flat.” He confidently let the corner of his mouth quirk up in a half smile. It was as he said, he would take care of everything. Nothing was too good for his brother, and no expense would be spared, he would make up for the lost time that Nigel had spent in poverty. “Just the word, I shall have any of the leftovers packed up and we shall take it back to the dorm with us, when you finished.” He looked around for his forgotten sketchbook and picked up his pencil, and started finishing the drawing, while he had Nigel sitting still here in front of him.  

___

Thanking the server as he mutters with half-shut mouth, his attention more preoccupied to voraciously vacuuming down the food. He would be satisfied with finding a half-eaten containers of  _ kukuliai  _ \- potato dumplings similar to gnocchi or even stale and dried-out  _ ruginė duona _ \- dark rye bread on the streets of Vilnius. Compared to measly insignificant meal comprised of mostly carbohydrates with too little protein, two quiches along with hot chocolate l'ancienne had been an onslaught of flavors, bombarding his palate with renewed purpose with every single bite. Wiping a dripping trail of sweat cupping over the villainous sharp cheekbones with the back of his hand, he slightly tilts his head sideways and lets his lips curl upward lopsidedly in a contented smirk. “Fine, as long as it doesn’t break your fucking sweat nor Aunt Murasaki’s.” With him finishing almost one whole pie plus another generously quartered slice, he stuffs himself until his stomach stretches to his maximum capacity. He could literally taste the rich velvety chocolate with each breathe, his torso aching too much from being glutted. “I’m too fucking stuffed, full up to here.” Sticking his hand underneath his chin as he swallows the last bit of the flaky crust, he leans further against the back rest of the bench to stretch his arms from his slouched position. He had been too absentminded to realize he literally had his nose touching the plate and Hannibal had been drawing him since when. As he most often had been, he had been too caught on with catching fat, juicy worms and spending time climbing on the tree to watch the quail nest along with mom and three little birds, he paid no attention on what Hannibal had been doing all those years. Without his knowledge, Hannibal would spend his time reading, drawing Mischa and him, sitting by the windowsill whenever the sunlight would create a dawdling sparkles and the leafy bed of foliage stir in the wind by the vast woods. He knew his older twin both had better penmanship and craftsmanship than he ever could, but he’d expected them to be more like doodles or scrawls, than a fully-rendered, almost completed piece of sketch. Finally looking up when the waiter brings packed doggy bag, he extends an arm to snatch the sketchbook in Hannibal’s hand to see his likeness executed with no visible lines - all blended shades, softened planes with very atmospheric and quality of a phantasm. “How long have you been drawing me, Han? That looks fucking fantastic. You should go out in the street and draw portraits.”  

___

He didn’t even lift his head when the waiter brought the packaged leftovers. His pencil stayed touching paper at all times, the point of the drawing utensil was growing dull. He was just about to use the knife sitting on the table to sharpen the point when, Nigel snatched the sketchbook away. “My dear-” His twin cut him off inquiring about the sketch. “Just since we came outside, when you started to play with those children.” Cheeks turning pink he smiled to hear such a compliment, it was only made better that it came from Nigel. His twin had never really much taken notice of what he did, or his artwork, it was nice to be noticed by someone you cared about. There were only two people left in the world that he care for, his brother and his aunt. Everyone else didn’t matter one bit to him. Sure they were curious in a scientific sort of way, he liked to meddle in their affairs just to see what would happen. Other wise he left it well alone, and proffered not to be bothered. “I plan to do more than draw portraits on the street my dear. I have big plans, and hope to get into a prestigious college with my artwork.” He had at least three years to go before graduation, and until then he would continue to get top marks in school, and practice drawing at much as possible. Nigel would keep him busy as a little side project, when they got back to his dorm, he would let his twin wear some of his clothes until tomorrow. Moving to stand he gathered his wallet from his coat pocket, he would go pay the bill while his brother got ready to leave. “I’ll be right back, gather your things, we shall leave once I pay.” Swinging a leg over the bench, he stood up, he got two steps away from the table when he turned sharply back to Nigel. “If there is anything you wish to do before we head back to the school let me know.” 

___

Growing more curious with each passing moment, he buries his face against the good-quality paper, bound together with calfskin, edges well-worn with both immaculate care and extensive use. As smooth as one of his old leather jacket he had fortuitously snagged from the secondhand clothes store. Sadly, that article of clothing hadn’t been with him at the moment, as he had used it as a canopy to keep himself off from heavy snow in Lithuania. The winter had been biting and especially grueling and at the end, the exposure to elements and poor care literally destroyed the jacket beyond restoration. Judging by his reflection from Hannibal’s sketch - he was in a dire need of a haircut, gaining some weight and muscles back as his body had compensated for the harshness and most importantly, a fucking bath. “Of course, I was fucking pulling your leg about that sketching in the street part, I’m sure you have more important stuff to do than that and have fuck tons of money, if you could afford everything without even blinking an eye.” Wondering if under Hannibal’s tutorage, alongside with the fuel of his willpower and undying drive to achieve something out of this, he wishes to spare no efforts to turn what he considers a mishap into a blessing in disguise. The first thing that comes to his mind is to avenge those worthless pigs who had killed their family, a close second would be wrought justice upon irresponsible caretakers and those bullies who brought hell upon the earth along the walls where it should’ve been their safe haven and a place for relaxation and comfort. Tying his long mane in a ponytail, he scoops up his shoulder bag and unrolls the sleeves back down, after washing everything down with a huge gulp of water. His stomach literally presses against the ribcage, about to be burst open as blood begins to work up to digest massive amounts of food. “I will most definitely need to practice gun shooting and get a fucking leather jacket. Imagine a roguish heartthrob all clad in black. I think I know what I want to be!” Crossing his arms in front of him and propping his chin over, his lips stretch from cheek to cheek as it mirrors the crescent moon, faintly taking the shape in the distant sky. The expression is somewhat complacent and sinister at the same time. “But right now starting towards your school sounds awesome.” 

___

After paying for the bill, he comes back to the little picnic table, to see Nigel all ready to go. Gathering up his sketchbook and pencil he pulls on his jacket, slipping his wallet into his breast pocket. Taking a moment to compose himself, he has to almost physically stop from hovering over Nigel like a nervous mother hen. “Right this way brother dear.” Taking his arm he steered him back in the direction he came from the school. He stayed linked arm and arm with his brother not wanting to let go. He didn’t realize how much he missed being close with someone until now. Just this little bit of contact was almost overwhelming. He was lonely, and it had been a very long four years without Nigel at his side. Now that he could talk again he planned to never stop. He was studying in as many languages as he could possibly learn. Never again would anything stop him from speaking not even the barrier of language.  At least with his brother here he wasn’t alone, and had someone to talk to who didn’t think he was a weirdo. Nearing the school, he lead the way towards the dorm rooms, but they were on the other side of the fence. “We’ll have to climb back over here.” He pointed to an area concealed by bushes. They didn’t want to get caught trying to get back in. “Not to worry I do this all the time. This part of the fence is never watched.” Giving Nigel a mischievous smirk, he lets his twin hold his sketchbook, while he climbs back over the fence to drop down on the other side. Standing as look out, he waves his brother on over, taking the art pad from him, so they he can have his hands free. “Excellent!”  He tells Nigel when his brother is standing next to him. He is overly cheerful at this exciting little adventure they got themselves into. “Ok right this way, and stay low. When we get back to my dorm you can change into some of my clothes, and I’ll cut your hair if you like.”


	4. Chapter 4

Swinging his legs sideways and snatching the shoulder bag and fastening the clasp around his chest, the excitement bubbles over, more than he cares to admit. Of course, he hadn’t slept with a roof over his head and even when he managed to get a proper shuteye, the last lingering thought had been all about Mischa and Hannibal, which didn’t help him to formulate pleasurable images of them in sunny days, roaming the nature when they had gotten chances and for him to befriend all the little critters out in the woods. His defence mechanism had made him outwardly optimistic, while the demons inside him constantly fought with recurring goriness and brutality of everything he had faced such blooming age of ten. Those past two years proved to be a living hell; even though there were few older guys who looked over for him and had taken him without commenting for it, but after all, every man was for himself. Which meant he had to learn the craft of being sneaky and had to use every disposal and means in his arsenal to get by each and every day. That sometimes meant exerting violence when necessary, to those that would never deserve it. Eventually, his moral compass narrowed down, all he had to do was to imagine as if those knowingly benevolent and unharmful strangers were those loathsome monstrous killers. But then, it had its limits as he wasn’t the most strongest and fittest of them all, he still had lots of growing to do - both physically and mentally. Arm to arm and occasionally bumping shoulders, the palpable closeness soothes him like emollient - perhaps he would be free of those haunting nightmares of him, his dear sister and Hannibal’s blood flowing like a steady stream of the night. With the slanting sun contouring their bodies and basking the back with last beam of intense sunlight, he amusedly chuckles as he looks up at the fence after watching his brother jump effortlessly. “I’m not fucking worried, Han. I’ve done this thousands of times.” Not breaking a sweat, the smooth flowing movement of his limbs transport him to the other side of a fence. “Lead the fucking way, general. Now I wonder if I can fool some of your classmates by pretending to be like you.” 

____

Giving Nigel a wry look when he gets called ‘General’, he moves silently through the bushes, to observe any movement on the other side. Since the coast is clear he waves his brother forward, tipping himself onto the stone path, and shaking off any foliage from his jacket. Like ghosts they move in a line, him in the lead, with Nigel bringing up the rear. The hallway where his quarters is deserted at this late hour. Since it a week of holiday the other students were either home visiting parents, or out celebrating with friends. Lucky for him he did not have a roommate he upon coming to this school; requested his own room, and had the money to pay for it. Producing a key, he unlocked the door and yanked Nigel in swiftly by the shirt, slamming the door. The longer they stayed out in the hallway, the more likely they could get caught. “I do believe if I cut your hair and you wore my clothes, no one would be able to tell the difference, between us-” Pausing a moment he looked his twin over, then added with a sly grin. “As long as you don’t open your mouth.” He could see the anger rising in Nigel across his handsome face, and quickly he leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek, just at the corn on his brother’s mouth. “We can work on that too.” Chuckling he turned and locked his door, whipping off his jacket, and hung it up on a coat rack in the corner. “Please make yourself at home. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be sleeping in your own bed, in your new flat, I’ll see you it.” Gently he placed his sketchbook on his neat and tidy desk, shifting it to a 90 degree angle, he was and always would be OCD about his belongings. Moving through his small, but organized dorm room, he started undressing to change out of his school clothes, and put on something more comfortable. In his color coded closet, he looked through the clothing to find something that would suit Nigel, and plucking a pair of folded pajama’s he tossed them to his brother. “Those should fit you, my dear. Try them on for me, if not I shall find you something else.”   

___

Not accustomed to why the campus is so deserted, the school takes more of the ambiance of the historical castle than a campus filled with rowdy adolescents like him with hustle and bustle of holiday spirits and drowning themselves with booze. Knowing already good beer was cheaper and safer to drink than water at times with him living like a drifter and a juvenile, the mere thought of it sends an energetic chill over his spine as he had sneaked into many affluent houses to pilfer some valuables when the opportunities presented. Morality didn’t matter when it came to survival of the fittest; he utilized every aspect of what he could do with his agility and dexterity. “This is all too fucking exciting.” Like moving in a wayward breeze and unpredictably changing the path. He reminiscences a short few months of hanging out with a company of his, who would always act on impulse, but would always have streak of luck to find deserted or unlocked residences to rob them clean. Not making a peep but feeling a skip in his heartbeat, he calmly follows Hannibal until they reach the darkened corridor. Not even fluttering an eyelash at vigorous jerk, his lopsided smirk spreads into a grin, then his lips quickly purse into a thin line as he bites his inner cheek, hazel pools narrowing in a bitter, zealous displeasure. “I think I liked you better when you were a fucking mute.” That is a blatant lie, as it had been one of the reasons, no, the most striking and discernible reason why he had left the orphanage. If they had shared all the monstrosities and physical and mental torments verbally, then the pain would have considerably lessened. The implant of Hannibal’s kiss doing much less to abate his surging anger, he flings off both his flayed denim jacket and shirt onto the little twin-sized bed by the window, pushed into the corner. The closet opposite the bed has barely enough space to open the door and the edge of the desk pushes almost all the way to the headboard, which only leaves about fifteen feet of space minus the bathroom. “All I fucking need is a bed and bathroom. Doesn’t even have to be as big as this room.” Catching the pair of pajama in mid-air, he dresses down to his too tight briefs, a size too small and stomps into the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a proper shower first then I’ll try them on. They might run a bit loose, but these will do for now.”   

___

The idea that he would put his brother up in a flat that was as small as this meager dorm was laughable. He did not say a word, nor did he laugh, he kept his thoughts to himself like he so often did. “Very well, We will have a busy day tomorrow.” He solemnly watches Nigel head into the bathroom, and pulls out a pair of clean boxers for his brother to wear. Following a little behind his twin into the bathroom, he promptly takes his brother’s old pair of underwear, while the other is in the shower and throws them away. He then lays the perfectly folded new pair and lays them on the bench with the pajamas he gave his twin. With out a word, he slips out of the bathroom with a pleased little smirk on his face. After dressing in his own pajama bottoms, he walked around with no shirt on, feet silent on the carpeted floor. It was a little bit too warm in the room, and he debated on opening the window a tad, but he decided against it until Nigel was out of the shower and dressed. It would not do for his twin to catch a cold, while he stayed here in his quarters. Sitting down at his desk he opened a notebook and started making a list of things he would need to get in order for tomorrow evening. He needed to get him clothes, his own toiletries,… The flat was sure to have it’s own kitchen and allow him to cook for Nigel. Here in his dorm there was no kitchenette. The prospect of getting to expand his talent for the culinary was enough to make him quiver with excitement. Hearing the shower shut off, he carefully closed his notebook, and laid down his pen. Standing he turned abruptly to look for his shirt, slipping it on just as Nigel stepped out of the bathroom with a little puff of steam. Smiling cheerfully, he started to button his shirt, “I take it you enjoyed your wash up. You look radiant when your all scrubbed off.” He teased his brother, while doing up all the buttons of his top. 

___

Immediately shucking off his clothes and leaving behind him like a trail of footprints, the cascade of warm water caressing and splattering onto the tiled walls. Although as unfamiliar and foreign everything is, it comes most close to what he considers a grant respite of a proper home. Being twins, and most important of all, being an identical twin meant majority of them would be cut from the same cloth, but since birth, they were dissimilar like night and day. Their interests, personalities, demeanor, as discrepant as they would get except their mirror outwardly likeness. Having resorted to going at lengths without washing or even when he had a chance, public restrooms and resorting to risk getting caught entering prohibited areas such as esplanades and plazas has its considerable limits. He would only scratch the surface and most often, it ended up being even worse than making an attempt to do so as he would get more sweaty and grimy. Taking his time to thoroughly wash up, he could judge that getting his own flat and finally getting a proper education he deserved would bring about a significant transformation. Essentially, he would be up for anything, really. He wasn’t in a position to say no to all things and would never return to his trashy past life. If he could reverse time, now he weighs carefully in his mind if he could ever leave Hannibal in the orphanage like that. He was too young and naive to not take the consideration that the life beyond the protective walls had been harsh and merciless. Lathering the shampoo, lavender body wash and covering himself in a thick layer of foam, the chimera in his mind immediately fabricates the long-lost memory of three Lecter children playing inside the small copper bathtub. His small hand submerging through the creamy weightless foam. Letting a nostalgic sigh lift his chest, he shuts off the water to inattentively wipe off excess moisture dripping off his tanned form. Looking over at the neatly folded clothes, he rummages every nook and cranny in the bathroom for his favorite pair of underpants he had since his orphanage years. “HANNIBAL! Where the fuck is my underwear?” Astonished, the last thing on his mind is the state of his undress, as the towel slips off from his shoulders. “I know you have enough money to buy clothes and stuff and all the fucking shit, but couldn’t you ask first before you throw in the fucking trash?” With each word spoken, his gritting teeth grinds together, trembling with taut anger as fingers curl. 

___

Immediately his face falls into a closed off, expressionless state. He looks at the floor while his brother yells. “Could you please keep your voice down, you could get us in trouble.” He finished buttoning his shirt and he stood facing away from Nigel slightly. “Forgive me, but it was not my intention to offend. I was just looking out for your well being.” He voice was emotionless as he let his brother chew him out over a pair of dirty ratty underwear. “While I am sorry that I did not ask before hand, I am not sorry to have thrown them away. They were boarding on being a health risk, and you wouldn’t be sleeping in my bed with dirty clothes on.” Heaving a large sigh, he is at a loss for words, he suddenly realizes that while to him it was perfectly normal and logical to throw away something that was dirty. His brother might see things a little bit different. Having little to no belongings or new clothes of his own for four years, he could see why Nigel would have grown attached to something so silly as a pair of underwear. While right now it was a physiological attachment it made perfect sense in context. He knew it was going to take some time for Nigel to feel safe enough to let go of one of the last remaining things from his past. Feeling like a jerk, he moved to stand by his twin. “I’m sorry, it was careless of me, and I shouldn’t have done that. You have every right to be angry with me.” Moving into the bathroom, he plucked the dirty pair of undergarments from the trash and put them in the sink. He then filled the sink with hot water to let them soak. “They need to be cleaned properly before you are to wear them again so would you please consider the ones I have given you as a stand in until we are able to do so?” He let them soak in the sink mainly as a way to reinforce the idea that they aren’t thrown away, but make it so his brother can’t resort to wearing a dirty pair of underwear. He knew that It would take time for Nigel to recover from the effect of being homeless and having gone without things, and it reminded him of the days spent in the orphanage, the bullies taking away all of his things, that is until he killed the main one. Taking a large fluffy towel, from the shelf, he unfolded it and wrapped it around Nigel comfortingly. “You need not worry anymore, I will take care of you, I only want what is best for you. I did not do this thing out of malice.” With the towel wrapped around his twin covering him, he gave him a reassuring hug. 

___

“Like I fucking care rat’s ass about who else is here.” In sullen and querulous presence, his piercing hazel eyes, along with flushed cheekbones and setting jaw reveal only one overwhelming sensation taking hold of his body in a trembling reverberation; contemptible anger. His fist clenching into tight balls, a thunderous boom fills through the cracks of his brain and the only conscience stopping him from flipping his shit and lashing out to his brother had been only one thing. Hannibal’s his only flesh and blood and hopefully he will eventually come to his senses and be aware of what he’s going through - with their shared experiences. Hannibal’s act only reminds him of those bullies; they had it all, stealing and expropriating whatever that came on their radar. The little possession they had, his little box of pebbles he had collected in the woods, the dried pine cone that reminisced him of the last Christmas they had spent as a whole family - while they weren’t typically fully-knitted one at that as he felt like he had been a black sheep among the family. When they tried to peep over his head and mock how their sister looked so little and weak compared to them and the twins - one mute, the other ‘an angry poodle,’ they called him. Having been smaller and on the slender side, there would be zero chance of him coming out on top when the confrontation got more physical. What they called him soaked through him through every pore and cells in his body and eventually, over those four years, he had slipped into negligent outcast way of living just like them and would grow up to at least hold his own better than those dismal years. He can’t move his feet, as if they had been magnetized by opposite ends. His palpitating heart growing rapid, his breathing becomes shallow as the plethora of water and brimming heat surfaces in the form of hot sweat. “I happened upon those at flee markets and secondhand shops and they’re more than fucking clothes to me, so don’t ever pull that fucking shit ever again.” Squeezing his eyes shut to expel the overabundant belligerence still taking over his entire body, he tries to forget all the blood, sweat and tears he had gone through to be in this place. Taking few shaky exhales and calming himself down with the tight hug, his chin digs into Hannibal’s shoulder blade as he blurts out. “Just wash those and they will be all clean, wearable.” Grabbing the ends of the towel and briskly walking towards the bed, he flops down with an unreadable facial expression and slips on the new boxers and drapes the pajama top. The soft fabric gliding smoothly past his lanky appendages as they snake through. Lifting his head with a sweeping combing of his hair, he decides against to leave another remark - something along about his twin knowing better of all the people who had known his past and changes the subject. “You were speaking about a haircut.”    

___

When Nigel pulls away he lets him go, he doesn’t try to restrain his twin. The sudden change of top has him reeling for a split second inwardly. On the outside he is carefully composed. “Yes a haircut. Of course.” He is pitched into action and pulls his desk chair out into the middle of the small room. “Please have a seat.” He motions for Nigel to sit in the chair, and takes the extra towel from his twin. This he uses as a sort of cape, draping it about the younger shoulders. Finding a small round mirror, he instructs his brother to hold it, while fetching a leather barber kit from the bathroom. Unrolling the kit, it reveals combs, a small pair of silver scissors, a straight razor, a barber shop razor, and a brush. If anything can be said, he was always prepared for anything. “Ok, hold the mirror steady for me while, I do this.” He used himself as a likeness, and started cutting Nigel’s hair the same way as his own. It wasn’t hard to imitate his hair style, he had been getting his haircut the same way since he can remember. After he was finished he combed his brother’s hair to the side, but it was opposite of his own hair. “What do you think, identical, and no one pays attention to which side I pair my hair.” He pushed Nigel’s hand up so they they were both reflected in the small mirror, looking like doppelgangers. The only differences between them now was the paired hair, and the slight maroon glint in his eye, that you could only see when the light hit his eyes just right. “Not a soul will be able to tell us part.” What he didn’t say was that Mischa would have been able to tell them part. They used to play a game with her, ‘Which one is Nigel’, and only Mischa could ever tell them apart back then. There was no fooling their tiny little shadow, and she was a Lecter after all, smart as a whip. Turning away he started cleaning up, and put the barber kit back in the bathroom. For a moment he stopped to stare at himself in the mirror, with hands on the sink, he gripped it tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Sometimes, what he saw in the mirror was not entirely himself, but a monster of what he was becoming. Turning off the bathroom light he moved back into the main room, and watched Nigel inspecting his new haircut in the mirror. “Are you tired? Shall we get ready for bed, or did you wish to stay up and read, or talk.” He kept his face blank, not giving away any of his true feelings. As tire as he was he would have liked to stay up and talk, but he did not want to influence Nigel’s decisions.      

__

He might have a devil-may-care attitude all around his vibe and stance, but inwardly he’s slowly taking in the abrupt change of his environment. As swiftly adaptive and accommodating to his volatile surroundings, the impeccably clean and orderly room acts more than a catalyst to whirl him right back to fleeting moments in his childhood years. Although he pretended to be uncaring, he had all his wits around him to immediately perceive that it came from his mother’s flawless tending of house chores. Not even bending over backwards and breaking a sweat, it wasn’t difficult to see the influences rubbing off of his older twin as their mother had been to them. Always quick to understand and respond, which made it that difficult to read their enigmatic and straight-faced face, looking more vacant than uncaring. Pulling his pajama pants with a wiggle of his hips, he situates himself as straightly as possible. Minus the space, it’s so easy to build the castles in air as he lets his mind swirl back to Lithuania; even the traditional means of having a small mirror and old-fashioned, velvety smooth leather barber kit adds even more so to exploit the nostalgic nature. As instructed, he steadily holds the mirror while his free hand roams and fumbles with the kit, too enthusiastic to add another sense - tactile to accumulation of all the sensations. Looking more like a wild lion, his mane unkempt and his body wrecked with a trap set by poacher, his appearance transforms as sheers continue to cut through his thick and still damp hair. He hadn’t been able to see or feel the back of his neck for ever, as the length of the hair considerably shortens. With his likeness gazing in _ décalcomanie  _ through the mirror, his fingers puff up his thick, straight ashen blond hair, letting few strewn strands fall off from his sharp cheekbones. “You know fucking well that isn’t true. No matter how much effort we put into, we couldn’t fool one person.” When he hadn’t been tainted with the vagrant way of life, not even their parents were outside their striking likeness, the only time they would be able to tell them apart had been around twilight, when golden orange glow of the light would slant through their deep-ridged brows, bringing out different specks out of their pupils. Hannibal’s maroon, Nigel’s green. His gaze still locked onto his self-reflection with retrospection of his childhood, he slumps down against the bed, leaning against the wall behind him. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep anyways, what do you want to talk about?” As if in sync, the darkening light permeates through the windows to mirror the exact ambiance he had concocted in his mind. “I was imagining how bright and tactful she had been at such a young age, her hunch, she had it in her bones.” 

___

He sniffed a little knowing at with a little practice that could fool people as twins very easy. Folding his arms and looking out the window to his right, he stares out at the horizon as the sun finally set. The mention of Mischa has his mood darken into melancholy. He doesn’t know what to say to those words, just thinking about their little sister and her terrible fate effected Hannibal immensely. With a sigh, he moves towards the bed, and dresses down the covers. Climbing into bed, he lays with his back against the wall on the outside edge of the bed, so that Nigel would be able to sleep against the wall. Finally he answers his twin. “I suppose she was. I haven’t talked about her since…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. It was painful to be talking about Mischa now, after five years, it still seemed like yesterday. She haunted his dreams almost every night. Many times he would wake up sweating, sheets soaked and unable to go back to sleep. He learned very early on to survive on very little sleep. At first it had been a defense mechanism. The logic being the less he slept the less likely that the nightmares would chase him. “It’s hard to talk about even now. I thought that if I avoided talking about her, that it would make it go away.” Rolling over he laid flat, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like had Mischa lived, and Nigel hadn’t left the orphanage. Would they all be living happily together. Nigel would most likely have been sharing a dorm with him here at the boarding school. “Do you ever wish you could take back leaving the orphanage, Nigel?” He had waited four years to ask his brother so many questions. He didn’t even know if he ever would get the chance to do so. Until yesterday there was a good chance that Nigel and him would never had cross paths. When he got adopted by their uncle they had sent people out to look for his twin, but nothing turned up, so they had assumed the worse. He turned to look over at Nigel watching the outline of his twin, while the darkness flooded into the small room.         


End file.
